Call the Shots (24 page)

Jack grabs Stacy by the shoulders and plants a deep, hard kiss on her.

Stacy leans in and kisses Jack heavily and passionately. They are interrupted by the SOUND OF BREAKING GLASS.

A humanzee’s arm reaches in the broken window and unlatches the lock.

Stacy SCREAMS. Jack grabs Stacy’s hand.

Jack and Stacy head for the stairs just as the humanzees start climbing in the window.

Coop finishes reading the last line out loud, then looks up from the screenplay pages, a big grin on his face. “This is totally brill, dawg,” he says, hopping up on my bed. “I am über-impressed. It just keeps getting better and better. Seriously.”

“I agree.” Matt nods. “I think you’ve found a hidden talent, Sean.”

We’ve gathered at my house prior to my double date at the mall. If I had any balls, I’d just bail. Call the whole thing off and save myself the misery. Instead I’m just trying to pretend it’ll all go away. Which is why I’ve given the guys the latest script pages. So we can talk about the movie instead of going over Coop’s way-too-complicated game plan.

“There’s one thing about the script that keeps bugging me, though,” Coop says. “The main characters’ names. I think we need to change them before we start the real filming.”

“You don’t like Jack and Stacy?” I ask.

Coop wrinkles up his nose. “They don’t grab me by the meat pouch — know what I’m saying? We should make something up. Something cool and video-game-esque. What about — and maybe this isn’t it — but what do you think of”— he marquees his hands —“Rogart and Nashira?”

“Really?” I say, looking over at Matt, who’s sitting on the floor, petting my ferret. “I don’t know. I kind of like Jack and Stacy.”

Coop gives a dismissive wave. “You gotta trust me on this one. We need heroic names. Jack makes me think of jacking off.”

Matt laughs. “Everything makes you think of jacking off.”

“True,” Coop says. “But that’s not the ish. Jack-off is not the guy you picture when you think about the dude who’s going to save the world from a zombie-vampire-chimpanzee apocalypse. Let’s call him Rogart instead. And let’s make him less of a pussy, okay? Ya gotta give dude some balls. Right now he’s just like a limp schween.”

I look down at the script. “He’s got some balls. He’s just —”

“A wimp. But that’s okay. It’s an easy fix. You’ll work on it. And then there’s Stacy. We can’t use that name because it rhymes with
lazy.
”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say.

“Close enough. It’s what came to
my
mind and if I thought of it other people will too. We want this girl to be badass. Like Lara Croft or Selene from
Underworld.
Let’s call her Nashira Axe. Rogart Crush and Nashira Axe. Those are names that will kick zombie ass and also look good on T-shirts, collector cups, and lunch boxes. What do you say?”

To be honest, Coop’s names sound kind of cheesy to me. But he does know how to sell things to people, so I cave. “Sure, okay, I guess.”

“Great.” Coop waves the script pages. “Everything else is spectac.” He flashes a quick smile, then looks all serious again. “I mean, yeah, there’s a thing here or there we can tweak as we’re shooting, but nothing major.” He turns to Matt. “What about you? Anything you don’t think works?”

“I don’t know,” Matt says, the ferret curled up and sleeping on his leg. “It seems like you added a lot of kissing. Jack and Stacy —”

“Rogart and Nashira,” Coop corrects him.

“Right. Whatever.” Matt shakes his head. “They seem to kiss, like, two or three times in every scene. It just feels a little excessive.”

“Yes.” Coop points at me. “The kissing. I wanted to talk to you about that too.”

My neck and ears suddenly get hot. Sure, maybe I added a bit more making out after Leyna auditioned — fantasizing as I wrote that it was me and her playing the leads, even though I had no clue how I’d make that happen — but I didn’t realize it would seem so obvious.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just . . . That’s their relationship, I guess. It’s how Jack — I mean Rogart — calms Nashira down. And . . . they’re not sure how much longer they have to live and stuff. They’re taking advantage of what little time they have.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, dude,” Coop says. “I’m all about sexing this puppy up as much as possible. I’m just thinking you might want to make it part of the plot. Like, okay, what about this? What if Rogart has zombie antidote in his glands — I don’t know, maybe he got a little of the virus in him in a fight with one of the humanzees and it acted like a flu vaccination or something — doesn’t really matter, however you do it — and the only way to administer this vaccine or antidote or whatever is by Frenching Nashira all the time. Or, you know, maybe later on, his saliva isn’t strong enough and he has to give her the antidote intravaginally.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Which actually addresses another problem I had with the script. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but there seems to be a distinct lack of gratuitous nudity. We need to show major boobalas if we want to bag the serious coin. You should think about having Nashira take a bath at some point, or maybe she gets her shirt torn off by one of the monsters. Or, you know, she could do a sexy webcam show before the outbreak. Things like that.”

My mind flashes to an image of Leyna taking off her clothes in front of my friends and I get a serious pang of jealousy. I need to divert this train before it heads farther down that track.

“I don’t think we have to stoop to that level just to sell tickets,” I say. “I mean . . . I don’t know . . . As the writer of this film, I just don’t see how nudity adds to the story. I don’t think it makes it any better.”

Coop cracks up. “Are you jockin’ my taters, dawg? Everything is made better with nudity. Movies, car washes, skydiving, horseback riding, pizza delivery. I can’t think of a single thing that doesn’t become infinitely superior when you add nakedness into the mix.”

“Football,” Matt says.

Coop does a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Football wouldn’t be better naked,” Matt answers. “Not on TV
or
playing it in Gym.”

“Especially flag football,” I add. “’Cause, where are you tuckin’ the flags?”

“We’re not talking about dudes, dudes. Why would you even go there?”

Matt shrugs. “Because you said everything is better with nudity. And I don’t agree.”

“Oh, really?” Coop smirks. “Ask some ladies if they wouldn’t prefer football if it was a bunch of buff naked dudes flip-flopping around the field. And what if it was guys versus girls in gym class? Now naked doesn’t sound so bad anymore, does it?”

I glance at my Death Star clock and see that it’s two forty-five. My stomach drops. “It’s, um . . . It’s . . . time.” I try to swallow but my throat is suddenly pasty and dry.

Coop looks at his cell phone. “Oh, shit. It is.” He hops off my bed. “Let’s rock and roll, dawgs.”

I force a smile. “Or, you know, we could just call the whole thing off.”

“Forget it,” Coop says. “This is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You have my word on that.”

A
LITTLE OVER AN HOUR LATER
, we reach the doors to the Rockville Mall. I stop dead and stare at the
HOURS OF OPERATION
stenciled there.

“Yeah, I can’t do this,” I say, my heart vibrating in my chest like a cell phone on steroids. “This is a stupid, stupid idea. Why the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

“Chillax. We’ve got everything timed out perfectly,” Coop assures. “Just stick to the plan, dude.”

“I’ve already forgotten the plan.” I’m starting to pit out the underarms of the fancy green button-up I put on especially for Leyna. “All I’ve got is radio static in my head. I need to end this.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m just gonna call DeLuca’s and ask them to tell Leyna I got sick. And then I’ll text Evelyn the same thing.”

“Uh, I think it might be a little late for that,” Matt says.

“No, it isn’t.” I point to the time display on my phone. “It’s only three fifty. I’ve got ten minutes before —”

“Hey there, koala bear!”

I whip around to see Evelyn leaning out of the window of a beat-to-shit matte-black Mustang — with what look like bullet holes in the side — that’s parked in the passenger loading area.

Oh, crap.

She heaves open the creaky door and is out of the car and on me like a straitjacket before I know what’s happening.

“Look at you!” she squeals, stepping back and yanking open my winter coat. “Love the shirt! God! It’s like you get sexier every day.”

“You’re early,” I croak.

Evelyn laughs her hyena laugh. “By, like, ten minutes. But you’re early too, cuddle bear! Is that kismet or
what
?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kismet.”

Nick, dressed in gray, black, and white urban camo, leans over from the driver’s side and waves through the open passenger-side window. “Hey, buddy. How’s it hangin’?”

“Uhhhh . . . good?” I say.

“Wish I could stick around and chat, but I’ve got a hot lead on the old man. Gotta check it out before the trail grows cold. I think I might have hit the jackpot this time.”

“Great.” I force a smile, remembering the heft of the Glock in my hand.

Nick points at me like the Uncle Sam
I WANT YOU
poster. “Don’t you keep our girl out too late, now, you hear, soldier? Don’t want to have to add you to the list of people I’m hunting down.” Nick laughs like this is hysterical.

“I won’t,” I say. “Keep her out late, I mean. You don’t have to . . . add me to your list . . . for hunting.” It’s like Niagara Falls in my armpits now.

“Good to hear. You keep it real, now.” He gives me a wave, then ducks back to the driver’s seat. The tires screech and smoke as he floors the gas.

Suddenly the car backfires and I hit the pavement, my jangled nerves reacting to the report.

“Just . . . testing my reflexes,” I say, slowly peeling myself off the ground and wiping the pebbles from my palms.

Evelyn laughs as she watches the Mustang go. “Nick’s rigged the car to do that on purpose. He thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” I say, my heart still lodged in my throat.

Evelyn turns to me, beaming. Then she looks over at Coop and Matt as if she’s only just noticed them. Her expression goes from thrilled to pissed in point-zero-five seconds. “Oh. I didn’t know we were having company.”

“They were just . . .” My stomach flip-flops. “I mean, we were just —”

“Matt’s been jonesin’ for a Wetzel’s Pretzel all week,” Coop says, throwing his arm around Matt. “He practically wetzels himself over the Sinful Cinnamon. Isn’t that right, Mattie?”

“Yeah.” Matt narrows his eyes at Coop. “I’m getting all moist thinking about where I’m going to shove that pretzel once I get my hands on it.”

“Anyway,” Coop says, “Sean-o told us he was meeting you at the mall and we thought we’d tag along. I mean, if that’s chill.”

“Actually”
— Evelyn squints up her left eye in a most unattractive way —“if you wouldn’t mind, this is sort of a date. I acted like a real jerksicle yesterday, and I want to make it up to Sean.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Coop waggles his eyebrows. “Nothing screams ‘I’m sorry’ quite like a dressing-room blow —”

“Whoa-kaaaay!” I grab the door and yank it open. “We better get inside before, you know, it starts to, uh, snow.”

“Or
something,
” Matt adds under his breath.

The four of us enter the stale warmth of the mall. The nearby food court swaddles us in its Subway-sandwich-meets-sweet-and-sour-pork smell.

“Seriously,” Evelyn says as we take a left toward Sears, “I was really hoping it could just be Sean and me.”

Coop smacks this idea out of the air. “Don’t sweat it. You won’t even notice us. We’ll be like ghosts. Besides, Matt’ll probably want to ditch you guys once we find the Body Shop. He’s run out of his Jolly Orange Body Butter, and he can’t live a day without it.”

“You think you’re dissing me,” Matt says, “but the fact that you even know what they sell at the Body Shop just shows what a girl you are.”

“Au contraire, mon frère,”
Coop says. “The only reason I know the stuff exists is because you won’t shut your yap about it. How it smoothes out your pimply butt skin. How it makes you smell like an Oran-
gyna.
It’s pathetic, dude.”

“Hey, didn’t you want a pretzel, Matt?” Evelyn points to the Wetzel’s Pretzels at the far end of the food court. “Maybe you guys could go get one and we could meet up with you later.”

I stare at Matt, silently begging him not to bail on me.

“I
do
want one,” he says, “but I think I’ll get it on the way out. The longer I wait, the more sinful the cinnamon tastes.”

Aw, man, I’ve never loved him more than right now.